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“Why did you arrange the murders of Dalton Weber and Sheriff Engels?”
“I didn’t!” Gid looked like he was going to pass out. “I didn’t have anything to do with that!”
“Stop talking,” the lawyer said.
“What was your arrangement with Philip Welch?”
“Nothing! I don’t even know him!”
“Really? Why did Welch drive directly to your home after committing double homicide? And why did you, only a few hours later, drive to Adam Ezell’s house to recover this blackmail?”
“That’s not what happened!”
“What is the connection between you, Eric Brey, Philip Welch, and the Cottonmouth Club?”
“Nothing, there’s nothing—”
“For God’s sake, Gideon,” the lawyer snapped, “shut up!”
Gid stared at John-Henry, panic lighting up his face. Then he spun away from the table and vomited on the floor. The lawyer let out a noise of disgust and scooted backwards. John-Henry got to his feet and moved to the door to call for a cleanup.
“Unless you’re arresting my client,” the lawyer said, her gaze moving from the vomit to a trembling Gid to John-Henry, “we’re finished here.”
“You can help yourself right now,” John-Henry said to Gid. “But if you wait until I’m bricking you in with this case, it’s going to be too late.”
Gid wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He looked like he was about to cry.
The lawyer dragged him toward the door, and then they were gone.
John-Henry collected the laptop, and he passed a man with a mop and bucket on his way out of the room. A moment later, he joined North and Shaw and Emery. He was buzzing with energy that felt like a mix of excitement and caffeine and the dregs of adrenaline. The smile he cocked at Emery reminded North that, his whole life, John-Henry had known he was hot shit.
“If he hadn’t had the lawyer,” Emery said with disgust and shook his head.
“I know, I know. But that was something, right? He was falling apart, and all I did was poke him.”
“You’re lucky it was puke,” North said. “He looked like he was about to shit himself.”
“Did you see him when I showed him the video? Jesus, that was satisfying.”
North thought about the strange moment when, for a heartbeat, he’d thought Gid had been relieved. But before he could say anything, Emery spoke again.
“You could have held him on the public indecency charge.”
“And he would have bailed out before I closed the cell door,” John-Henry said. “I want that hanging over his head.”
“Have you tracked her down yet?” Shaw asked.
“The woman in the video?” John-Henry shook his head. “We’ve got a name, and Emery’s working on finding her. We’re going to have to interview everybody in that jail a second time. Jesus, the hours on this are going to bankrupt us. But if he did it once…”
“He didn’t just do it once,” Emery said. “And he definitely didn’t like it when you brought Welch into the equation.”
“I wish we had something more solid on him, but until we talk to that woman—”
“Assuming you can find her.”
“—I’m going to start by telling his lawyer he’s lost visiting privileges at the jail.” John-Henry shook his head. “It got me thinking about Brey, though. He and his lawyer had cooked-up some serious bull about the shooting at the hot springs. I thought maybe the smokescreen was to cover the fact that Brey had lured Welch out to kill him.”
“And almost got his own ass capped,” North said. “Welch was pissed. If we hadn’t shown up, he would have plugged Brey and walked away.”
